


We Are The Fallen

by Zayrastriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Castiel doesn't know how it happens.</i>
</p><p>  <i>And that's a lie; he remembers pushing the demon onto the holy fire pinning him down.  He remembers Lucifer's curiosity, the focussed interest that made him want to flee his vessel, struck and engulfed by a sudden sickening paranoia.</i></p><p>Lucifer never thought Castiel would Fall.</p><p>Castiel never thought Lucifer knew who he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel doesn't know how it happens.

And that's a lie; he remembers pushing the demon onto the holy fire pinning him down.  He remembers Lucifer's curiosity, the focussed interest that made him want to flee his vessel, struck and engulfed by a sudden sickening paranoia.

He recalls stepping out into the field to see Lucifer shining bright in Sam's familiar body, and Dean's horrified expression.

What Castiel doesn't know is _how_.

But there's no time for that, because he's throwing a...Molotov champagne?  Something? at Michael, who has only one short instant to promise pain on him with his gaze before vanishing.  Lucifer turns, anger flashing bright and vicious in his eyes until he sees Castiel.

There's a shout of fear from Dean, and then Lucifer raises his hand and everything goes black.

Castiel doesn't know how he ends up here; blinking into wakefulness on his back, and staring at a rich gold-red patterned ceiling.  There's an unfamiliar fabric beneath his body (nude, and Castiel has been near-human long enough that this strikes a chord of panic within him.)  He rolls over onto his side and picks at this fabric.  It's a blood red, and feels slinky-soft against his skin.  

But here is where he is.

A word rises up to his lips as he continues to let the cloth rub against the back of his fingers.  "Silk," he mouths out slowly, uncertainly.  It's smooth against his calloused skin, and so strange in comparison to the rough hotel linen that he's become fast accustomed to.

"You're awake," Sam says from somewhere to his right.

Castiel freezes.

"Sam," he starts, turning his head so fast his neck hurts, pushing up weakly on too-loose limbs.

Floppy brown hair, strong nose, muscled arms framed - strangely - by what looks like a neater version of the shirt Castiel wears.

He brushes aside the nakedness, packs it away in a corner of his mind.

The first strange thing Castiel notes is the stillness of Sam's breath.

The second - the glowing ice-blue eyes where warm hazel should be.

And then he remembers.

"Morning Star."  

Castiel has not uttered those words in millenia; they were banned in heaven, of course.  It was the same way with Anael, after God's Grace cast away her wings and fell to earth.  Castiel has not heard his own, not since Raphael smote him and he became considered Fallen.

But, "Lucifer," he amends quickly, Lucifer in his true vessel, Grace infusing every cell of Sam's body?  He could not keep the words in, even had he tried.

_Morning Star._

Lucifer smiles; a little like Sam, but not quite.  There's an underlying confidence that Sam has never had, not since Castiel has known him.  It's in his shoulders, too; thrown back, casual and strong. Sam had been too good at making himself smaller, particularly next to Dean's bluster.

_Dean-_

"Morning Star."  There's a slight wryness to the tone as Castiel's words are echoed.  "I have not heard that name in millenia," the archangel says.  

"Apologies," Castiel says quickly.   _Why are you apologising_? part of Castiel demands.   _He will tear you apart no matter what you say._

But Lucifer does not seem annoyed by Castiel's presumption, because the smile remains on his lips.  "You set Michael on fire, Castiel, and I did not slay you."  Castiel barely remains still, barely keeps back the full-bodied shudder that threatens to overwhelm him at the statement, so casual yet menacing.  "You think I will end your life for simply using my Godsname?"

No.  But that raises another question...

_Why am I still alive?_

He buries that; searches for something a little safer.  "Where am I?" he finally settles upon, taking the opportunity to scan the room as he moves slowly to lean against the headboard.  The archangel anticipates the movement, and reaches out towards him.

Castiel flinches.

Something which almost resembles hurt flashes across Lucifer's face, but smooths out before Castiel can even begin to process.  "I thought you might like a pillow for your back," he says, and as Castiel slowly leans back he feels the warm softness instead of cool wood.  He is careful to pull the sheet up with him.  It's strange; nudity never would have bothered him, but now that his Grace is barely there...

He shakes off that thought, turning them instead to an examination of the room; the main feature of which appears to be the bed Castiel is in.  Opposite Castiel is a television screen, stretching wide across the wall.  Something both the Winchester boys would have appreciated ( _no more, no more_ ).  A quick glance to the left shows the room widening out; and a door, almost unnoticeable except for the discreet silver doorknob.  The huge expanse of floor from the bed to the door is a rich dark wood, smooth and gleaming.

To the right is slightly less room, but, still the floor stretches out a far way before meeting the wall.  There are two more doors over there; one closed, the other one open.  There is no way to be certain, but Castiel can only assume from the glimpse of what looks like white tile that the bathroom must be behind that.

"I would willingly have given you a tour."  Of course Lucifer knows what he's doing.

Castiel takes a deep breath - _steady_ \- before turning his head to look at the archangel.  "Where are we?" he asks again.  _Calm._

Lucifer blinks, slowly, and tilts his head thoughtfully; as though he's trying to locate himself.  It reminds Castiel with a jolt that Lucifer has walked the earth for barely three or four months.  Place names like Colorado and Texas that Castiel still has to reach for must be akin to a foreign language for his brother.

"Los Angeles," Lucifer finally says, in a perfect Spanish accent.  "The Angels.  I thought it fitting, considering."

Though Castiel does not believe he means those words to sting, they do nonetheless; and perhaps it is not wise to turn his head from the Devil, but he cannot help but do so, if only in an attempt to hide the deep flush of shame.

The soft pressure of cool skin on Castiel's shoulder comes as a surprise; he startles slightly, whipping his gaze straight back to Lucifer, wide-eyed and and instantly fearful once more. 

This time, Lucifer does not withdraw.  "I meant no slight, brother," the archangel says soothingly, as though attempting to calm a frightened animal.  "You are no lesser for the suffering you have undergone; indeed, you are all the greater."

Formal language, a corner of Castiel's mind notes clinically.  Perhaps it was the fact that he was finally in his true vessel; less of the vessel's mannerisms coming through, no rough edges.  Castiel has no idea what this means for Sam and Sam's soul.

Either way, there are no popular culture references slipping from the archangel's lips now.  Only his brother, whose hand continues to linger on Castiel's naked skin. 

No humanity; only his brother, the archangel Lucifer, the Morning Star. 

Castiel has become too human, clearly, for that idea terrifies him profoundly.


	2. Chapter 2

After a long, terrified moment, Castiel licks his dried lips and swallows in a paltry attempt to force moisture to his mouth.  "What happened after..."  His voice cracks.  "Where is Michael?"

Lucifer does not reply; merely gazes at him, as something flickers and shutters in his expression. 

_Dead._

_Dead.  Michael is dead._

A high keening sound fills Castiel's ears.  A mournful, pained noise of agony that grates at him.

It takes a long moment for him to realise that the noise is emerging from his own mouth; that his back is curled, that he has his hands around his folded legs and that it is his nails that are digging into his skin, hard enough to draw blood. 

He had not thought it would hurt this much, the death of an archangel.  Sam and Dean had told Castiel of Gabriel's death, yet it had been something he had barely believed.  And Gabriel had vanished too long ago, before the War.  It was no wonder that Castiel had not recognised his brother, for their Graces had hardly touched.

But Michael - Michael had held them to course, for all those millennia.  Michael had saved them after the War when Heaven's brightest had been lost to them forever.  Whatever Dean might have thought of Michael, it had been Castiel's oldest brother who had comforted him after he had been forced to take those first-born sons, after Moses. 

Michael, more than any other angel, had wept for Lucifer's fall.

And Lucifer had-

Castiel's wail cuts off in an instant as he unfurls and swings his fist at the archangel; who does not so much as flinch as Castiel strikes him.

Castiel, on the other hand, draws back with a hiss of pain, massaging his wrist.  He cannot be sure, but it is entirely possible that over the ring of agony in his ears, there had been the audible sound of a crack.

"Give me your hand."  Lucifer does not wait for him to obey; merely reaches forwards and clasps Castiel's wrist firmly.  The bone knits together in blazing coldness.

 _So that is what it feels like, to be healed by an angel_ , Castiel thinks dazedly, before things click together over the shock of remembered pain and he realises that this is Lucifer, who-

"You killed Michael."  Despite the seething anger inside of him, Castiel's voice emerges curiously toneless.  "After you...knocked me out."  The phrase is awkward for Castiel, yet seems the most appropriate given that he as of yet does not know what Lucifer did.  "You killed Michael, and Adam.  And..."

 _Dean_ , Castiel thinks _, what did you do with Dean_?  But he can't vocalise that; he does not wish to hear an answer.  He does not wish to know, and so the words choke him instead, piling in his throat as a thick lump that he can barely breathe around.

Distantly, he thinks he might be having a panic attack.

 _Panic_.  How far he _has_ fallen.  Further than Lucifer, who is still at least an angel.  Castiel is not angel, nor human-

Lucifer sighs, a slight wisp of breath, before leaning back in his chair. The weight of his presence eases up slightly, and Castiel curses the slight, pathetic feeling of gratitude which wells up inside of him.  "Not exactly," the archangel admits.  "But he might prefer death, after a while.  I did."

For a moment, that doesn't make any sense at all.

But-

_I did._

That shocks the lump out of his throat, all at once. 

"You...put him in the _Cage_?!" Castiel exclaims, in absolute shock.  Shock and _relief_ \- if Lucifer has thrown away the rulebook, decided not to-

Lucifer shrugs.  "I didn't want to kill him," he says lightly.  "And besides," he adds, with a curve of his lips that does not reach his eyes, "this way, he can suffer."

"Suffer?"  Castiel barely restrains the shiver.

But the archangel merely shrugs again, and Castiel surmises he does not wish to elaborate. 

That is the limit, however, of what Castiel is able to surmise about his brother.  He still has no idea of what he is doing here, nor of what has happened to Dean and Bobby. 

He wonders when Lucifer will tire of him and kill him.

None of these questions leave his lips, however.  He cannot be sure, but it seems all of a sudden that Lucifer has had enough of questions.  Before Castiel's Grace had depleted, he would have been able to read the resonances of Lucifer's Grace the way humans read expressions.

Now, however, he is forced to turn his head, somewhat timidly, to look at his brother-

Who is staring at him.  No, not staring.  Simply regarding, Sam's usually expressive face giving absolutely nothing away.

_Are you there, Sam?  I am sorry that I could not help you; I am sorry this happened to you._

"You are courageous, brother," Lucifer says abruptly, startling Castiel.  "To have continued to aid Samuel and Dean when you had suffered so much for them."  Castiel wonders what suffering Lucifer is referring to - the depletion of his Grace, or the fact that his family would sooner kill him than speak to him. 

"It is beautiful."  Were the sincerity in Lucifer's voice not so strong, Castiel would assume the archangel were mocking him.

As it is, he cannot swallow down the bitter laugh he expels, like the bark of a dog.  "Beautiful?  My wings are all but bone, and unusable.  I need to eat and drink, to sleep.  I am more human than angel now, and I know how you feel about humanity, Lucifer."

It comes so suddenly there is no way for Castiel to react other than with a startled gasp - the covers pushed back, and Lucifer's cold hands on him lifting him from the bed to push him facefirst against the wall.  His legs give way and he collapses to his knees, fall only somewhat broken by the thick, lush carpet.  Lucifer shifts behind him - perhaps to kneel?

That suspicion is confirmed as his brother's cold fingers graze his naked back.  Not an unchaste touch; but something in the gentle touch sends shivers up Castiel's spine, as the angel brushes the joint of Castiel's wing, invisible to the third dimension but as clear as day to any being with visions of the sixth.

(Castiel hasn't tried to discover whether he is still able to see his wings; deliberately avoided reaching out and across in an attempt to see Lucifer's.  It suffices to feel them, bare and bony.)

"What do you want from me, brother?" Castiel asks, the weariness rasping in his voice. 

Lucifer plants a soft kiss against the top of Castiel's spine.  "You, Castiel.  Just you."


End file.
